


My Beating Heart Wanted More

by deesaster



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Season/Series 03A AU, Scent Marking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 03:34:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5952196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deesaster/pseuds/deesaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the pack deals with Deucalion and the Darach, Stiles comes up with a few reasons why Derek shouldn't leave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Beating Heart Wanted More

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by this lovely song: [ Of Monsters and Men - Hunger](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n106Qo0D948). Give it a listen if you've got the time :)  
> This is unbeta-ed, so sorry if there are any mistakes.  
> This fic is just some random idea that has been bugging me, and I couldn't let the occasion slip through my fingers.  
> Hope you'll enjoy! :D Feel free to comment!!

“Derek?”

Stiles’ voice echoes through the loft, barely above a whisper. He knows he doesn’t have to speak loudly. He bets that it wasn’t even necessary for him to speak at all, because Derek probably heard his Jeep pulling into the building’s parking lot. Damn his werewolf senses.

Speaking of which, he had to shower twice before coming to the loft, totally not because werewolves can totally smell if you’ve jerked off. Stiles just couldn’t leave his morning wood unattended. Thinking of Derek early in the morning didn’t help with that either. Or wait. It _did_ help, if you catch Stiles’ meaning.

Stiles should also stop _thinking_ about this morning’s session of ‘Stiles time’, since he’s pretty sure Derek can smell that too. He kinda has proof of that, because every time Stiles’ dirty mind produces inappropriate thoughts regarding Derek in his presence, the guy just scrunches his nose and throws him a sideways glance. Which happens way too often.

He fidgets with the hem of his plaid shirt. He probably reeks of anxiety, too. Sighing, he calls out Derek’s name again, a bit louder this time. Derek has to be home. The Camaro is in the parking lot and where else would Derek be, if not home, packing for his trip to God knows where?

There’s movement on the spiral staircase, and Derek descends the stairs gracefully, wearing one of his grey Henleys. Stiles could’ve sworn that shirt was destroyed in some claw fight weeks ago. Does Derek buy them in bulk? He owns too many of them.

Also, Jesus Christ, is he aware of how well the color looks on him? He probably is, the bastard. Stiles stares at how the material pulls across Derek’s well-defined chest for a moment and almost groans. He can’t do this, he can’t.

Derek doesn’t say anything. He just leans against the desk by the tall windows, facing Stiles, and crosses his arms against his chest. Stiles refuses to let his eyes linger on the werewolf’s biceps.

When Stiles finally finds the courage to pull the massive door behind him closed and climb down the few steps leading into the loft, Derek raises an eyebrow at him.

“Uh, hey, dude,” Stiles stammers, the speech he stood up all night to prepare forgotten.

Derek nods at him, chin jerking up. “Why didn’t you come last night? The whole pack stopped by to say goodbye, except for you.”

Stiles decides against lying. Derek will know if he lies anyway. “I—I couldn’t come.”

He really couldn’t. He just didn’t agree with the idea of it. He came up with a lot of reasons why Derek shouldn’t leave. Like, for example, Scott may be an alpha now, but Derek should stay and teach him how to be one. Derek knows a lot of things he could teach Scott, but when Stiles explained this to Scott, the guy simply said he is okay with figuring this new stuff all by himself, and Derek will always be just a call away anyway.

After hours of arguing, ending in Scott and rest of the pack leaving to say goodbye to Derek and Cora, he realized something. Maybe Scott’s lack of a much-needed werewolf mentor isn’t the main issue that’s bothering him. Why does Derek have to leave now, when they’ve just started to function like a proper pack? It just doesn’t feel right. They need every ally they can get, since they’ve kind of ‘activated’ the Nemeton and they’ve been warned that shit may or may not go down.

They don’t even know how long Derek will be gone. Derek could be leaving for good, and they’d never see him again. Stiles has to admit that if this was the case a few months ago, or last year, when he met Derek, Stiles would’ve probably packed Derek’s bags and bought him the plane ticket himself. Derek used to be a pain in his and Scott’s asses and they’ve always tied Derek to their problems. Now, well, things have changed. And Stiles can’t just agree to Derek leaving for ‘an indefinite period of time’. It sounds so ominous.

Derek shouldn’t skip town just because he feels like it. All right, Stiles understands that Derek’s been through a lot and that his time as an alpha wasn’t particularly prolific for him. Derek deserves the all the rest and peace he can get, but he’s got a pack now. He’s not the alpha anymore, but he’s got a pack who cares about him. His sister, who was thought to have died in the fire is alive and by his side. The Alpha Pack is gone, they defeated them _together_. Hasn’t Derek learned that strength comes in numbers?

They need Derek, and Derek needs them. He should _stay_.

And not just because Stiles is kind of in love with him.

“You couldn’t?” Derek asks skeptically.

“Yeah, I couldn’t,” Stiles repeats, more confidently.

“All right.”

An awkward silence settles between them and Stiles starts to regret closing that heavy door. His anxiety-related instincts are screaming at him that a quick getaway will probably become really necessary soon.

“So, um, you’re really leaving, eh?” he manages, lifting a hand to scratch at the back of his neck nervously.

“Yeah.”

“Where to?” Stiles asks promptly, heart thumping at the confirmation of Derek’s imminent departure.

“Thought about Mexico,” Derek shrugs. When he sees that Stiles frowns a bit at his reply, he asks, “Why, you’ve got a better suggestion?”

Stiles winces a bit. Here goes nothing.

“Well, yeah. Heard Mexico is _awful_ this time of year,” he says dramatically, gesticulating for emphasis. “Hmm, I’ve got some nice alternatives for you. How about this lovely town in California, just south of Redding, called Beacon Hills?” he points out.

Derek snorts, and Stiles smirks at his reaction. The werewolf doesn’t say anything though, so Stiles takes it as his cue to go on.

“Don’t you already have a place there and a pack, or something? I’m sure you know the town. Anyway, there’s this guy there, called Stiles. Spastic fella, lanky and awkward, incapable of standing still or quiet, kinda annoying? I think you know him. A pain in the ass, if you ask me.”

The amused look on Derek’s face and the way he rolls his eyes are _so worth it_. Good, Derek is entertained, but now comes the really difficult part. He takes a deep breath before he continues.

“Okay, so, this guy would appreciate it a lot if Beacon Hills was your choice, since y’know, he’s got a bit of a crush on you. Maybe not just a simple crush, per say, but a pretty big one.”

It’s a coward way to confess undying love, but it’ll do. Stiles swallows hard and bites his lower lip. For a werewolf, Derek sure has a slow reaction time. Did he understand what Stiles meant? Why isn’t he _saying_ anything?

“Is that so?” Derek finally says. He doesn’t look amused anymore.

Stiles has imagined this so many times, telling Derek how he felt. He’s done it in a thousand different ways. The scenario never looked like this one. He’s never imagined that he’d confess in a desperate attempt to keep Derek from leaving Beacon Hills, and that he’d use such a lame analogy. But then again, he’s never imagined that he’d fall for Derek Hale, sourwolf extraordinaire, who’s probably one-hundred percent straight and only dates gorgeous women. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

“M-hm,” Stiles agrees, reluctantly. “He might even be in love with you. A little.” And he looks down at his shoes, not ready to look Derek in the eye.

His heart is hammering in his chest and Derek can hear it, shit—oh God, shit, this is a disaster, Derek isn’t saying anything, he’s quiet and still and—Stiles is panicking, and before he can stop his stupid mouth, he starts talking again to fill the overwhelming silence.

“Plus, the guy already made up a list of reasons why you shouldn’t even be leaving in the first place.” His voice sounds shaky and nervous, any control he had over it gone. “Look, Scott really needs your help now with the whole True Alpha thing and we’re pack, we really, really need you here, dude—”

“Stiles. Stop.”

Stiles looks up at him with wide eyes, like a startled doe ready to spring away. Fuck. Derek’s grimace tells Stiles that he’s probably uncomfortable with everything Stiles just blurted out. He’s fucked this up. He shouldn’t have said anything, he should’ve said goodbye properly and let the guy go without ruining the feeble friendship they had. If snapping occasionally at each other and Derek slamming him against inanimate objects could be called friendship.

He shouldn’t have hoped. Derek never showed any interest in him whatsoever, so why did Stiles hope that if he told Derek how he felt, Derek would stay?

Eyeing the floor again, Stiles fishes out the keys to his Jeep from the pocket of his jeans. The rustle of the material and the jingle of the keys are the only sounds that can be heard.

“Um, that was all. Have a safe trip and all that, I’ll see myself out,” Stiles mutters quickly, without pausing to breathe. Then he spins on his heels and climbs the short steps leading to the door he should’ve let open.

“Hold up, Stiles,” Derek calls out.

Stiles’ hand is already on the handle, but before he can pull the metal door open and flee, someone else does it for him.

“You ready to go?” Cora asks her brother, stepping inside the loft, overlooking Stiles at first. “Oh, hi Stiles,” she says after she sniffs the air, without even needing to see him. Stiles is starting to really hate the werewolf nose. This is just getting ridiculous.

“We were actually waiting for you to drop by. Well, Derek thought he should go see you himself, but I told him you’d come sooner or later. See, Derek?” Cora says, beaming at Stiles. Why is she so happy out of a sudden? She’s a Hale, for fuck’s sake, smiling is supposed to make her have a stroke, or something.

Derek grunts. “Cora, go unload the car.”

Stiles looks at him like he’s grown a second head.

“Unload the car? Aren’t we leaving?” Cora’s eyebrows shoot into her hairline. For some reason, she doesn’t sound like she’s very surprised, given the alleged change of plans.

“No, I changed my mind.”

Cora’s mouth forms an ‘o’, as she quickly catches his meaning, then she winks at Derek.

“Gotcha,” she says brightly, and she exits the loft, pulling the door back into place and trapping Stiles inside.

Derek steps away from the table he was leaning against, coming closer to where Stiles is standing. Hazel-green eyes pierce through him and Stiles’ heart starts beating fast again. Against his better judgement, Stiles is the one who speaks first, in a trembling voice, after coming down one step on the stairs.

“You were waiting for me?”

“Yeah,” Derek replies softly.

Stiles’ stomach flips. Hope doesn’t do him good, he shouldn’t hope, it’s not fair. He comes down the last two steps, eliminating the height difference and bringing them closer, at the same level. It’s really nice how they’re almost the same height, being able to look each other in the eye evenly, not to mention that their heights are perfect if they were to kiss. It’s not like Stiles’ vivid imagination didn’t picture that a thousand times, in a thousand different ways. Not at all.

 “Right. Dude, what is with all the ‘unload the car’ and ‘I changed my mind’ crap? Are you seriously—God, is this a joke to you? I mean, how can you—”

Stiles has to stop, because a pair of lips are on his own, and it’s so much better than what he’d imagined. Derek kisses like he does everything else, with passion and strength, but somehow, he’s lacking confidence, because he’s stiff and a bit awkward. That also may be Stiles’ fault. He’s so surprised by the kiss that he doesn’t even kiss back at first.

Then, one of Derek’s hands is on his shoulder and the other is cupping his jaw, fingers kneading at the nape of his neck. And Stiles closes his eyes and melts into the touch once he brushes off the shock. The keys to his Jeep slip through his fingers and he brings his hands up, settling them on Derek’s hips, drawing him closer. When Stiles finally begins to reciprocate the kiss, Derek eases into it as well, grasping at Stiles’ shirt and licking at his bottom lip.

Stiles opens his mouth eagerly, letting their tongues brush together, and can’t help but let out a tiny moan at the sensation. His hands travel up Derek’s side, touching and exploring, incapable of standing still, before coming back down to clutch desperately at Derek’s waist again. Honestly, this is the best thing ever in Stiles’ opinion and nothing will ever beat a thorough kiss with Derek Hale.

Eventually, Stiles has to break it in order to catch his breath. And to stop his pants from becoming any more tight around the crotch area. And seriously, Derek should come with a warning label. Does he have any idea of the effect he has on Stiles?

Stiles’ lips tingle pleasantly and his heart rate has gone through the roof. When he manages to open his eyes, the first thing he sees is Derek’s own wide pupils, his irises shifting back from electric blue to their normal hazel color. He almost feels smug, knowing he’d made Derek lose control and subsequently changed the color of his eyes.

“You’re staying,” Stiles breathes out, not even bothering to make it sound like a question. His hands squeeze at Derek’s sides.

Derek just nods, bringing his head down to rest on Stiles’ shoulder. He noses at Stiles’ throat, lips lingering on his pulse, stubble brushing against the crook of his neck. He sighs, almost _blissfully_ , and it takes Stiles a second to realize that Derek’s doing some werewolf thing, scenting him, mingling their scents together.

“Your heart’s beating really fast,” Derek mumbles against the skin of his neck.

Stiles can feel Derek’s lips curl into a smirk against his throat and he moves his hands on Derek’s back, enveloping his werewolf into a proper hug and holding on tightly. He presses a kiss on the top of Derek’s head, then smiles.

“That’s your fault, asshole.”

 


End file.
